loving mother soothing her child to sleep. Soothing, soothing.
She let her body relax again into the leaf litter, pillowing her pounding head on her good arm, resting her cheek against her wet, ungloved palm. It would do no harm to close her eyes, just for a space, just until the storm abated. Then she would go on. She had to go on.
Closing her eyes changed everything. Soon she could no longer feel the pain or the cold seeping into her bones. The storm seemed less hostile. She could barely hear the wind or the beat of the rain on the leaves. Was she floating? She was beginning to feel as if she were weightless, drifting slowly up into the heavens. And the sky around her had turned a bright, fierce blue.
Warm fingers touched her clammy cheek, drawing her back to earth, to harsh, forbidding reality. She did not want to return.
The fingers pressed into her flesh, insisting, demanding. She tried to open her eyes in response, but her heavy lids refused to move.
‘Where am I?’ Though the words formed in her throat, no sound came out. She was so weak. So tired. Sleep. She longed to sleep again. To float away.
‘Wake up, woman! You cannot stay here. Come. Open your eyes.’ A man’s voice. Strong, deep, educated. Forceful. Pulling her back.
Then a hand gripped her shoulder and shook it. Pain seized her, huge waves of pain in her shoulder and in her head. Pain that shattered her floating dream. She screamed.
‘Dear God! You are hurt. Let me help you.’
She opened her eyes at last. Darkness. A single light, from a lamp, low down. She was lying on the ground. Was she badly injured? How had she come here? How had-?
More agony as the man slid his arms under her body and lifted her. She groaned aloud, partly from pain, partly from loss. She did not want to leave her floating refuge.
He laid her on the open ground in the freezing rain. Instantly, the cold was attacking her again, intensifying the pain. He lifted the lamp to her face and stared at her. She lay still, transfixed by his gaze.
The lamp was moved away. ‘Trust me, ma’am. I will see you safe.’ A moment later, he was stripping off his heavy coat and wrapping it round her helpless body. The smell of warm wet wool engulfed her. And the smell of man.
‘Forgive me,’ he said abruptly. ‘I need a free hand for the lamp.’ Without another word, he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Pain scythed through her. And then the blessed darkness returned to claim her.
She seemed to be dreaming his voice. Words, questions. Sometimes soothing, sometimes sharp. But never strong enough to pull her back from the cocoon of warmth that now surrounded her and held her safe. She felt she was floating away all over again, this time for ever.
And then her cocoon was gone!
She was alone with her suffering. She forced her eyes open. She was propped up in a curricle. By the dim light of its lamps, she saw that the horses were hitched to a fence. Was there a house beyond?
‘You are come back to us, ma’am.’ His tall figure reappeared from the darkness. He had not deserted her. Perhaps she could trust him, after all. ‘Come, let me carry you in.’
This time, he was more mindful of her hurts, lifting her carefully into his arms and cradling her close to his body. She let herself relax into his reassuring strength. The scent of man and horse and leather surrounded her. For a moment, he stood still, gazing down at her with concern in his dark eyes. Then his jaw clenched and he started towards the house.
She saw a winding path through dark, dripping shrubs. Then an open doorway filled with light and warmth and welcome. And a small round man in clerical garb, hovering anxiously.
As her rescuer hurried towards the doorstep, a little old lady in a lace cap appeared from the depths of the hallway, followed by an even smaller maidservant. ‘Why, Master Jonathan! You are welcome, as always. But who is this you have brought us?’
‘Mrs Aubrey! Thank goodness!’ He shouldered his way past the old man and into the hall. ‘I have never seen her before, but I believe she is a lady. I rescued her from the woods by the old oak. She is hurt. And almost frozen to death.’
The old man gasped. ‘Dear God. Poor child. And at Christmas, too.’
His wife stepped forward in order to smooth back the wet hair and peer into the new arrival’s face. ‘What is your name, my dear?’
That came like a blow, worse than all the pain that had gone before. It was a terrible, terrifying realisation. ‘I…I do not know.’
Chapter One
‘Beth, dear?’
Beth. Sometimes, it still jarred. Was that truly her name? ‘Dear Beth’ had been the only legible words on a soggy, much-folded note in the pocket of her threadbare gown. They had found no other clue to her identity. All their discreet enquiries had yielded absolutely nothing more. So, after more than six months, Beth was still in Fratcombe with her benefactors, and still the woman of mystery she had been on the night Jonathan rescued her. It nagged at her that she might not even be ‘Beth’ at all.
Mrs Aubrey had appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes, ma’am?’ Beth said brightly.
‘Do you think you could fetch me some ribbon from Mr Green’s when you finish at the school today?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Beth replied immediately. ‘What do you need?’
Mrs Aubrey brought out a length of dress fabric, and they spent a comfortable few minutes discussing the style the old lady planned to stitch.
‘You have chosen a delightful shade, ma’am. Not quite purple and not quite garnet red, either. The only difficulty will be finding a ribbon to suit such an unusual colour. But I promise I will do my very best.’
‘You will have time?’
‘Oh, yes. Mr Green’s will be open for at least an hour after the children have gone home. If it takes me longer than that to find your ribbon, Aunt Caro, I shall be a failure indeed.’ She smiled down at the little old lady. Beth had come to love Mrs Aubrey like a mother, for she was kind and generous, as well as surprisingly full of fun and mischief. Neither Mrs Aubrey nor the rector cared that Beth had no history before her arrival in the village. Her educated speech and soft hands proved her a lady, the Aubreys said, and so, over Beth’s guilty protests, they had insisted she remain with them. Indeed, the rector’s wife had let it be known from the first that Beth was a distant relation, come to make a long stay in Fratcombe. Most of the village had accepted it without question. As the months passed, even Beth had come to think of herself as Miss Elizabeth Aubrey, one of the rector’s family. It was a warm, comforting feeling, one she treasured. But it could not quite overcome the guilty fears that sometimes gave her nightmares. What might she have done in the past? What could be so bad that her mind refused to let her remember?
Gathering up her basket with the lesson materials she had prepared, Beth dropped a kiss on Mrs Aubrey’s cheek and made her way out into the bright morning sunshine. The rectory stood next to the Saxon church at one end of the village. The school had been set up in a vacant house near the middle of Fratcombe alongside the main shops. It was an easy walk, though the day promised to be very hot later.
Beth smiled up at the clear blue sky. A Spanish sky would be a darker, deeper blue, she supposed, nearer the colour of Jonathan’s eyes, as far as she could remember it from that single, pain-hazed meeting. She had never even had a chance to thank him. The morning after the rescue, he had left Fratcombe Manor in response to an urgent summons from Horse Guards. There had been an apologetic farewell note to the rector, as good manners required, but he had taken the trouble to include good wishes for Beth’s recovery as well. That thoughtfulness still warmed her heart, though it saddened her that she had not seen him again. It was the life of a soldier, she supposed. Apart from that one fleeting spell of home leave, he had been in the Peninsula for years, fighting the French.
She had not thought it her place to ask questions about her rescuer. That would have been vulgar. But, by listening to others, she had learned to admire him even more. His name was Jonathan Foxe-Garway. And although
