alongside the brook, toward the village of Comberton-by-Weir. It’s sign-posted. Head for the hilltop, and you won’t go wrong. Once past Overhill Farm, go down the other side and you’ll find the squire’s house half a mile on. It’s called Haskell Hall. You can’t miss it—a big old house with great trees lining the way up to the entrance. It’s about a mile and a half in all.”
Throwing her aside he scowled. “Ah, well. I suppose I’ve come this far, another mile or two will seem like nothing.”
Before he left he warned her again. “We had our fun and that’s an end to it. But one word to anybody, especially to Lucy, and you’ll rue the day. D’you understand me?”
Fearing for her life, Lynette nodded. “I won’t say anything.”
“Good girl.” For an unbearable moment he stared her out. “I expect I’ll see you when we get back.” Grabbing her hair in a bunch between his thick strong fingers, he drew her head back and kissed her throat. “Oh look, you’re starting to bruise.” With a devious grin, he screwed a straightened finger into her forehead until she winced. “Not a word!” he whispered. Then he went on his way, whistling merrily as he strode briskly down the pavement.
So far it had been a good day, he thought cockily.
Seeing Lucy would be the icing on the cake.
Back at Bridget’s house, the woman herself had arrived; large-boned, with her mass of fiery hair and eyes green as a cat’s in the dark, she filled the front parlor with her presence. Astonished to find one of her young people in tears, she dropped her bag into the nearest chair.
“Aw, will ye look at that!” she exclaimed. “You’ll have eyes like split walnuts if you don’t stop the bawling, so ye will.” Sensing a man was involved, she demanded to know in the strongest Irish accent, “Who was he? What did the swine do to you?” She banged her fist on the dresser. “Sure, I’ll have the bloody head off his shoulders if he’s messed you up.” And by the ample size of her, she was well capable of carrying out her threat.
“It’s got nothing to do with any bloke.” Afraid to reveal the truth, the young woman lied convincingly. “It’s just that I’ve had this awful toothache all day and it’s giving me some gyp.”
Bridget relaxed. “If that’s all, you’d best get yourself a drop of the hard stuff out of the press. That should see you through the night, and if you’re no better in the morning, you can take yourself off to the dentist. All right?”
“All right.” Lynette gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, and there was a man here … not a client or anything like that,” she added quickly.
Bridget was disappointed. “Pity. So what did he want?”
“He was looking for Lucy.”
“Was he now? And did you tell him where to find her?”
“Yes. I told him she was working over at the squire’s house. He’s gone there now, to meet up with her.”
“Mmm.” Bridget did not like the sound of it. “And what did he look like, this fella?”
The young woman shrugged, her bottom lip turning down as she pretended to recall his features; while in truth she would never forget them. “Rough-looking, I suppose, but handsome all the same.”
“That doesn’t tell me much, does it? A description like that could fit anybody.” Bridget threw herself into the chair opposite. “Come on, Lynette—what else?”
“Well, he had a weathered face as though he’d been in the sun a lot, and he was carrying a kitbag.” As the images burned deeper into her mind, her speech quickened, as though she wanted it all said and done with as swiftly as possible. “He was dark-haired and he had this look about him—a real mean, peevish kind of look. I tell you what, Bridget, I wouldn’t like to be Lucy if she’s got deep in with that kinda fella. No, I certainly would not!”
Bridget was curious. “For someone who’s got a bad toothache, you seem to have found enough time to get a real good look at
Throwing her aside he scowled. “Ah, well. I suppose I’ve come this far, another mile or two will seem like nothing.”
Before he left he warned her again. “We had our fun and that’s an end to it. But one word to anybody, especially to Lucy, and you’ll rue the day. D’you understand me?”
Fearing for her life, Lynette nodded. “I won’t say anything.”
“Good girl.” For an unbearable moment he stared her out. “I expect I’ll see you when we get back.” Grabbing her hair in a bunch between his thick strong fingers, he drew her head back and kissed her throat. “Oh look, you’re starting to bruise.” With a devious grin, he screwed a straightened finger into her forehead until she winced. “Not a word!” he whispered. Then he went on his way, whistling merrily as he strode briskly down the pavement.
So far it had been a good day, he thought cockily.
Seeing Lucy would be the icing on the cake.
Back at Bridget’s house, the woman herself had arrived; large-boned, with her mass of fiery hair and eyes green as a cat’s in the dark, she filled the front parlor with her presence. Astonished to find one of her young people in tears, she dropped her bag into the nearest chair.
“Aw, will ye look at that!” she exclaimed. “You’ll have eyes like split walnuts if you don’t stop the bawling, so ye will.” Sensing a man was involved, she demanded to know in the strongest Irish accent, “Who was he? What did the swine do to you?” She banged her fist on the dresser. “Sure, I’ll have the bloody head off his shoulders if he’s messed you up.” And by the ample size of her, she was well capable of carrying out her threat.
“It’s got nothing to do with any bloke.” Afraid to reveal the truth, the young woman lied convincingly. “It’s just that I’ve had this awful toothache all day and it’s giving me some gyp.”
Bridget relaxed. “If that’s all, you’d best get yourself a drop of the hard stuff out of the press. That should see you through the night, and if you’re no better in the morning, you can take yourself off to the dentist. All right?”
“All right.” Lynette gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, and there was a man here … not a client or anything like that,” she added quickly.
Bridget was disappointed. “Pity. So what did he want?”
“He was looking for Lucy.”
“Was he now? And did you tell him where to find her?”
“Yes. I told him she was working over at the squire’s house. He’s gone there now, to meet up with her.”
“Mmm.” Bridget did not like the sound of it. “And what did he look like, this fella?”
The young woman shrugged, her bottom lip turning down as she pretended to recall his features; while in truth she would never forget them. “Rough-looking, I suppose, but handsome all the same.”
“That doesn’t tell me much, does it? A description like that could fit anybody.” Bridget threw herself into the chair opposite. “Come on, Lynette—what else?”
“Well, he had a weathered face as though he’d been in the sun a lot, and he was carrying a kitbag.” As the images burned deeper into her mind, her speech quickened, as though she wanted it all said and done with as swiftly as possible. “He was dark-haired and he had this look about him—a real mean, peevish kind of look. I tell you what, Bridget, I wouldn’t like to be Lucy if she’s got deep in with that kinda fella. No, I certainly would not!”
Bridget was curious. “For someone who’s got a bad toothache, you seem to have found enough time to get a real good look at
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